For My Brother’s Sins

by For My Brother's Sins (retail) (epub)

‘In what respect, sir?’

  ‘Why, in the respect that seeing as how you’re a good Catholic boy,’ here he gave a sly wink at his wife, ‘I’m going to grant my permission for you to call on my daughter – provided that’s what she wants.’ He leaned towards Sam who appeared dumbstruck. ‘Have ye lost your tongue? Isn’t that what ye were after?’

  ‘Oh aye, indeed!’ Sam was overjoyed and pumped Patrick’s hand vigorously.

  ‘Er, there’s just one thing we ought to get out o’ the way,’ said Patrick. ‘I’d like to know here and now whether your intentions towards my daughter are wholly honourable?’ Erin closed her eyes, as did Thomasin.

  ‘Of course they are!’ Sam looked injured. ‘An’ I don’t mind sayin’ I find it most offensive that you thought otherwise.’

  ‘Ah well, then I apologise.’ Patrick’s features evened out into sincerity. ‘But ye appreciate I had to know. Now sit yourself down. I promise I won’t force any more o’ me smelly old baccy on ye. Tommy, ring for that woman to bring the tea. I’m sure Mr Teale – Samuel – must be thirsty after his fiery speech.’

  ‘Thank God,’ muttered Dickie. ‘I’m bloody starvin’.’

  ‘You see what sort of household you’ll be coming into, Samuel?’ Thomasin gestured at her son. Sam grinned at Erin’s good-looking brother, who made a face as if to say, ‘Women!’

  After they had taken tea and Dickie had sloped off elsewhere, Patrick at his wife’s whispered suggestion, allowed the two young people to retire to the front parlour. ‘But no funny business, mind. There’s a brick wall separating us but any whiff o’ foulplay an’ I’ll smell it.’

  Thomasin laughed at him when the young couple had gone. ‘You don’t believe in diplomacy, do you, Pat?’

  ‘’Tis best he knows where he stands.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think he’s in any doubt as to that. God, I thought we were in for a right time of it when you started on him. You really were rude, you know. Oh, don’t worry,’ she smiled at him, ‘I understood why. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her could he? So … what do you think to him then? Now that you’ve asked all your questions.’ Teatime had been abundant with the latter.

  ‘Oh, he seems a nice enough young fella.’ Patrick meant it.

  ‘Nice enough to be your son-in-law?’

  ‘We’d best leave that for Erin to decide.’

  She smiled. ‘Oh, I think our Erin has already decided.’

  * * *

  ‘Your father’s a very strict man,’ observed Sam now they were alone.

  ‘He’s very fond of me,’ defended Erin. Though he wasn’t really worthy of her defence after all the rude things he had said to Sam. Never mind, she could tell the rivalry was over now.

  ‘Oh, I can see that,’ responded Sam hastily. ‘An’ if you don’t think it impertinent I can see why. It’s very easy to be fond of you, Erin.’

  He was looking deep into her face. The strange feeling that she had from time to time came over her now. She rose quickly from the sofa. ‘Would ye like to join me in a game o’ cards, Mr Teale?’

  ‘Samuel,’ he reminded her. ‘An’ what I’d really like to do Erin, is to sit here an’ talk to you – all night if you’ll allow it. I want to know everything about you.’

  She risked a bold smile at his earnest face and sat beside him once again, not moving when he shuffled closer. ‘I wish I could say the same about you but I think Father put paid to all that over tea. I’m sorry about all the questions. He does get a bit fatherish now and again. Well… what would you like to know first?’

  ‘Is there anyone else? A man I mean? Anyone important?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I find that surprising.’

  ‘Do you – with Father?’

  He laughed. ‘Eh, I must be privileged then.’

  ‘You don’t know how much.’

  ‘Have you ever loved anybody?’ It came out of the blue.

  ‘I’m not sure … I’ve sometimes thought I did, but…’ an embarrassed shrug. Then she asked, ‘Have you?’

  ‘No … not till now anyroad.’ He put his arm around her. She allowed it to lie. He sensed she was a bit nervous. ‘Your dad won’t mind, will he?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Do you like working at the store?’ he asked for want of something better.

  ‘I’m not on the counter so often,’ she answered. ‘I’m through the back baking the pies – I like doing that.’

  ‘Yes, your mother told me you bake an exceptional pie.’

  ‘When did she tell you that?’ Erin had not heard this mentioned throughout tea.

  ‘The other day when I called in your shop.’

  Erin’s heart sank and she gave a loud sigh.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked puzzledly.

  ‘You’re another one of hers, aren’t ye?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t …’

  ‘Did Mother ask you to call on me?’

  ‘No, you did.’

  ‘I mean before that! Did she arrange for you to call in the shop when I was on my own?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He took his arm away as it was apparently unwelcome at the moment. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’ This family really confused him. One minute they were nice as pie the next they were laying into you.

  ‘Did you or did ye not arrange all this with Mother?’

  ‘I didn’t arrange anything except wi’ you! The only time I’ve met her before is when I went into the store in the hope of seeing you. You weren’t there so I came back another time: that day when I locked you in …’

  ‘Oh, God I’m sorry … ye must think … ’tis just that Mother has this terrible habit of trying to pair me off with every man she meets. I thought when ye said … that she might…’

  ‘I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d’ve had any trouble in that direction,’ said Sam. ‘Can I put me arm back now?’

  She smiled gratefully. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘S’all right.’ He grinned. ‘Eh, won’t it be nice us working close to each other? We’ll be able to see each other more often.’ After a period of nods and smiles he continued, ‘You’re not at all like your mother, are yer?’

  She explained that Thomasin was her stepmother, that her own mother had died from cholera when Erin was two years old. ‘But I still remember how kind an’ beautiful she was, how she used to encourage me in my attempts to play the little harp over there.’ She nodded to the handsome instrument with its intricate carvings and expert marquetry which stood in a prominent position in the room, as though placed there as a constant reminder of the family’s Irish ancestry.

  ‘I noticed that the minute I came in.’ Sam pulled himself from her side to examine the harp more closely. ‘It were a real craftsman what turned his hand to that.’ He trailed capable fingers over the bowed forepillar, then made a small sound of dismay as he came across the terrible scars.

  ‘Those were made by a very wicked person,’ said Erin quietly, seeing Helena Cummings once again fall to her death. ‘A long time ago. Some day I might tell you about it, but not tonight.’ Not tonight when she was so very happy.

  ‘I don’t know as I want to hear of anyone being wicked to you, Erin.’ He returned to the sofa and scooped up her hand. ‘An’ one thing’s certain: now that I’m here no one is ever gonna hurt you again.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Erin’s body was outside the grocery store, sweeping away the weekend’s debris, but her mind was engaged in matters far less mundane. The afternoon with Sam, though it had overspilled well into the evening, had been far too short and the hours between then and seeing him again seemed endless. However, Sam had been granted Patrick’s permission to call on her again tonight. Hopefully there would be the usual stream of customers to occupy her and to shorten the day.

  ‘Good morning!’ she shouted to a passing knife-grinder as he trundled past. ‘Isn’t it a lovely day?’

  The man lifted a quizzical eye to the overladen sky, through which only
Erin could see the sunshine, then returned the pretty girl’s smile. It seemed to Erin that everyone was smiling this morning. There were no nasty people in the world, just happy, loving ones. Dear, dear Sam.

  She turned as a tapping drew her attention to the grocery window. Thomasin was making stabbing gestures at Erin’s half-hearted attempts at sweeping the pavement. ‘Come on, lovestruck!’ she mouthed. ‘I’m run off my feet in here.’

  Sam Teale emerged from the butchery and stepped back to the edge of the pavement to scrutinise his expert display. His timely action meant that he just caught sight of Erin as she was about to retreat to the grocery. He shouted her name. She spun round joyfully as he pounded towards her.

  ‘I’d best not stay too long,’ he panted, reaching for her hand. ‘Mr Simons’ll talk about docking my wages if I stand here chatting. He likes his pound of flesh … oh!’ He bent over and smacked his knee. ‘That’s a good one, that is. Him being a butcher, see?’ he explained to Erin. But his voice petered out as he caught her expression. ‘What’s the matter? You aren’t ill are you?’ He sandwiched her hand between his bloody mitts and rubbed it briskly. ‘You’re frozen, lass. And here’s me keeping you talking in this weather. But oh, Erin I just couldn’t wait for tonight. Erin? Erin!’

  She had snatched her hand from his and was now rubbing it frenziedly against her apron as if it were contaminated. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. She seemed anchored to the footwalk by some unspeakable fear. But it was her face that disturbed him most – full of horror. The blue eyes were wider than they had been even when he had locked her in the store that day. She seemed unable to tear them from the blood-stained apron that he had seen no reason to change.

  Erin’s heart felt like a trapped sparrow trying to free itself from her ribcage, fluttering pathetically against her breastbone. She felt a strange, creeping tingle at her hair roots, and a prickling of her body. Her hand still rubbed itself involuntarily on her thigh, trying to rid itself of that clammy stickiness where his hands had fouled her. Those butcher’s hands with their red-tinged cuticles and the small pieces of animal flesh beneath the nails. The blood on his apron. His face, last night so dear, now revolted her, with its pimples and splashes of blood. Always blood.

  ‘Erin, dearest, tell me what I’ve done!’ begged poor Sam, and reached out. Reached for her with those ghastly hands, to claw at her clothes, to hurt her.

  And she screamed … and screamed … and screamed.

  Then Sam remembered where he had seen her before. How a twelve year old child had stood almost on this very spot and looked at him as if he were the Devil incarnate and had screamed – like she was screaming now – and wouldn’t stop. And people had looked – as they were looking now – pointing and accusing. And he didn’t know how to cope with it. He just stood there, staring into that gaping hole in her face which emitted such a terrible, noisy fear.

  Thomasin rushed out into the street, gauged Erin’s hysteria and dealt her a sharp slap that cut off the scream abruptly. She clutched the now-sobbing girl to her bosom and addressed Sam over the racking shoulder. ‘You’d best go back to your work, lad.’

  ‘But, Mrs Feeney!’ Sam grabbed Thomasin’s arm. ‘I didn’t do anything. I swear by all that’s holy. She just looked at me and started screaming.’

  Thomasin’s recriminative eye swept over him. ‘You must have done something, Samuel. People don’t go around screaming for nothing.’

  ‘You’ve got to listen!’ He wanted to tell her about the chance meeting all those years ago. ‘She’s done this before.’

  But Thomasin steered a dough-faced Erin in the direction of the grocery where people craned their necks to see what all the commotion was for. ‘I can’t stand here listening to explanations, I have to tend to Erin.’

  ‘May I still call tonight?’ cried Sam anxiously.

  ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ said Thomasin over her shoulder.

  ‘But please, I …’

  ‘No, Sam!’ she cut him dead. ‘You’ve obviously upset her, whether intentionally or not. She isn’t likely to want to see you for a long time – if ever.’

  Sam was devastated. He watched Thomasin, her auburn head resting against Erin’s raven-haired one, shepherd the girl into the shop and close the door on him. What would Mr Feeney’s reaction be when they told him? That was obvious. He stood there for a while longer until Mr Simons shouted for assistance. Suddenly, everything was grey.

  * * *

  Sam did keep his appointment, however. Despite the fact that he was going to get his head chewed off he had to see her, to find out what he’d done wrong. He could not settle all day, earning a dozen rebukes from his employer for the laxity of his work. By evening his stomach was turned inside out with what was going to happen to him – and more importantly, to him and Erin.

  Patrick had himself not been home long from work when Sam’s knock came. Still in his working clothes, his face peppered with soil, he looked a formidable sight to Sam as the nervous young man was shown into the Feeneys’ drawing room. He had the feeling the Irishman was about to reach for him, when he was saved by Thomasin’s entry.

  ‘Mr Teale, we weren’t expecting you,’ she said coolly.

  ‘I oughtta belt you!’ Patrick finally spluttered. ‘What happened to those honourable intentions?’

  ‘Mr Feeney, Mrs Feeney, please let me explain! I had to come, I couldn’t let you go on thinkin’ it was summat I’d done that made Erin scream.’

  ‘So she was screaming for the fun of it, was she?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘Honest, Mr Feeney!’ pleaded Sam desperately. ‘We were just talkin’ – least I was, natterin’ away thirteen to t’dozen an’ all of a sudden Erin let out this big scream. I swear I never said nor did anythin’ which might upset her. I…’ The door had opened and a waxen-faced Erin stood there. His face softened in concern. ‘Erin …’

  Thomasin took control. ‘You weren’t supposed to be up, young lady.’ At lunchtime she had closed the store in order to bring Erin home and put her to bed with a sleeping draught to calm her down. She had been absolutely hysterical, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t say what had happened, just kept saying, ‘It’s my fault… so silly,’ over and over again. And when her mother had told her it was all right, that Sam wouldn’t be allowed to bother her again she’d got herself into another state.

  ‘I heard the door go,’ murmured Erin. ‘I hoped it might be Sam.’ This morning was still hazy. She couldn’t really remember what had happened, only that she’d stood there in the middle of the street screaming, but she didn’t know why. All she could remember was blood … She shivered. But there was no blood now. Here was Sam with a look of concern on his dear face. ‘I wanted to say I was sorry.’

  ‘You were sorry?’ said Patrick as Sam let out a sigh of relief. At least they knew it wasn’t his fault now.

  ‘I’m so embarrassed, Sam.’ She found it hard to look at him. ‘I don’t know what came over me. Will ye forgive me?’

  ‘Oh, Erin!’ he laughed his relief, then nodded. ‘Aye, ’course I do. It’s just that I couldn’t understand what I’d done … I mean, this is the second time, isn’t it?’ At her frown he said, ‘’Course you wouldn’t remember, it was a long time ago, you were only a little girl… all I said was hello an’ you burst out screamin’… frightened me to death.’ He laughed. Erin, too, smiled, though she said she could not remember. ‘Well, I couldn’t expect you to remember me, but I remember you ’cause you were so pretty.’

  ‘So, he never made indecent approaches?’ said Patrick dubiously.

  ‘Oh, Father of course he didn’t,’ replied Erin, still feeling muzzy from the sleeping draught. ‘I’ve told Mother it was all my fault.’

  ‘Ye’d better sit down,’ advised her father. ‘You too, young fella.’ He made a face at Thomasin to show his incomprehension of the situation. She shrugged.

  They all sat, but nothing much was said, Patrick still annoyed at what he considered to
be Sam’s fault. Eventually Thomasin said, ‘Well … we usually eat at this time, Samuel.’ It had been prearranged to Sam to call after dinner, but naturally he hadn’t been able to wait that long.

  He stood. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t give it a thought, I was so eager to …’

  ‘Could Sam stay for dinner?’ interrupted Erin.

  Patrick, tight-lipped, exchanged looks with his wife.

  ‘If you want him to,’ replied Thomasin.

  ‘I do,’ said Erin. ‘’Tis the least I can do to make amends for causing him such worry.’

  After dinner – though Patrick was again none too keen – Thomasin told the couple to retire to the front parlour. ‘Well, they clearly found it a bit difficult speaking in front of us,’ she told Patrick when they’d gone. ‘And it gives us a chance to discuss things too. Dickie, are you going out?’

  ‘I was thinking of having an evening in,’ he smiled perversely.

  ‘Well – have it in your own room,’ she parried, and waited till he had slouched from the room before continuing. ‘Right, Patrick. Let’s decide.’

  ‘Decide whether Teale is a lecher or our daughter is a looney,’ he muttered, pouring a drink. ‘God! I don’t know what to make o’ the whole matter. Tell me again what happened.’ It was hard to digest when he had only learnt of it an hour or so ago.

  She repeated the scene as she had witnessed it. ‘Erin was just stood there screaming at him. That’s all there was to it. Mindst, I reckon anyone would’ve screamed, he did look a sight. He must’ve crawled inside a carcase the amount of blood that was on him; it was all down his pinny, his hair was gummed up …’

  He nodded thoughtfully, took a sip of his drink and then said in cautious tone, ‘I think I may have an idea.’ He waited to see if his words had provoked the same conclusion. When she frowned he had to explain.

  ‘It can’t be that!’ she scoffed, it was years ago, she’d never remember that far back.’

  ‘’Tis the only explanation I can give: Jos Leach was a butcher, Sam is a butcher.’